


the fire lily that blooms in adversity

by tophsgf



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mulan (1998) Fusion, Bisexual Disaster Sokka (Avatar), F/F, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Azula (Avatar), M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, azula and zuko are the sibling duo we deserve, basically canon verse, basically i butcher both avatar and mulan, no beta we die like ozai should have, past jet/zuko if you squint, sorry ty lee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tophsgf/pseuds/tophsgf
Summary: in zuko's defence, joining the southern water tribe's army seemed like the perfect opportunity to hide from ozai while also actively harming him. he did not, however, account for his own romantic tendencies and a very beautiful blue-eyed captain.orzuko and azula take the world (aka two brothers' places in the southern water tribe's newest set of recruits)
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Katara (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 511
Collections: A:tla





	the fire lily that blooms in adversity

**Author's Note:**

> i've seen many a zutara mulan au.....but here i am, an lgbt, and i've decided there should be a zukka mulan au. with some azutara in there. as a treat. i'm not sure what to say here besides an apology for the lack of exposition and also for how much i butcher the geography of the world of atla. 
> 
> in the words of that one person who ate soap, "if i made the world into a conviently shaped blob for the sake of plot no i didn't ❤️ yes i did 💔"

The spirits hate Zuko. He is well aware of this. 

“Father,” Zuko tries to keep his voice steady. “we can’t afford to fight another war. our people are recovering from the last one.”

“We won the last one,” Ozai says, dark eyes hard. “As for your worries, I won’t validate your insolence. The people of the Fire Nation know that war is inevitable.” 

“But war right now?” Zuko says, against his better judgement. “When we’ve lost so many soldiers?”

At this point, he expects it. He knows the fire is coming before he feels it on his wrists, before he hears Azula's screams at his father to stop. 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is the sound of lightning striking the dining table, and the way his father recoils and the pain suddenly lessens. He doesn’t expect Azula to pull him out of his chair, to push through the double doors that adjourn to the hallway, for her shallow breathing as she pulls him out into the cold of early fall. 

“Brother,” it’s hushed, through gritted teeth. “We have to get out of here.” 

“We?” His wrists sting, but it’s hardly a vicious punishment from Ozai. Since when does Azula go against their father? 

“You think I’d let you leave without me, idiot?” There’s no bite to her insult. If Zuko didn’t know better, he’d think Azula looks a bit hurt. “Don’t bother lying. I know you were planning on leaving.”

“I wouldn’t have left without you.” 

“Yes,” Azula says. “You would have. I’m daddy’s little girl, remember?”

“Didn’t seem like it back there.” 

“We don’t have time for this,” Azula hisses. “Father will be back to punish you soon enough. we need to be long gone by then.” 

“We don’t have anything prepared.” 

Azula fixes him with a blank look, her perfectly groomed eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You really think I’d strike at our father with lightning and not have a plan? I’m disappointed, zuzu.” she tugs two large, yet unassuming bags from behind a large stone, one Zuko’s never thought to pay much attention to before.

“What is—“

“Get changed and meet me in the garden,” Azula says hurriedly. “Bring anything you don’t want to leave behind, I doubt you have much.”

She isn’t wrong. He takes his dao blades and all the money he’s saved up. He leaves all his princely regalia. There’s no point in bringing any of it. The pain in his wrists has subsided. At least that’s something he can be happy about. 

The clothes Azula has chosen are neutral earth tones, the fabric feels expensive, even to Zuko's shaking hands. He wonders just how long Azula has been preparing for this. just how much she’s risked for them. 

It’s somewhat loose on his slender frame, but it’s so much less stifling than the robes of the crown prince. 

He’s in the garden as quick as he can, careful not to alert any of the servants. For a brief moment, in the eerie quiet of the palace, he wonders if this is some sort of intricate plot, one designed by Azula to prove to their father the extent of his disloyalty. 

That fear is proven incorrect when he sees Azula in the darkness of the garden, her usually neutral expression twisted into one of anxiety. It lessens considerably when she sees him. 

“Good.” She says. “Let’s go.” 

They both know there’s an exit behind the koi pond, an old service entrance. It’s out of use and barely ever patrolled.

“How are we getting away?”

Azula rolls her eyes and opens the old gate, cringing as it creaks loudly. There, in the moonlight, are two horses.

“Convenient,” Zuko says, and Azula snorts.

“It pays to be nice to the stable boy.” Zuko has never known Azula to be nice to anyone, but he will accept this fluke if it means he doesn’t have to leave Druk behind. “It also pays to be rich,” she adds.

“You’re a genius,” he says, climbing atop the horse he’s had since childhood. 

“Oh, Zuzu,” Azula says, mimicking his motion as she mounts her own horse. “You can supply me with endless compliments when we’re not within Father’s sphere of influence.”

She isn’t wrong. What they’ve just done is treason, and their father will not react kindly to it.

Before he can respond, Azula’s eyes widen as she focuses on something behind him, and Zuko knows exactly what she’s seeing. 

“AZULA.” Their father bellows, his tone is murderous. “I expected such cowardice from him, but not from you. Perhaps I should have killed you when I killed your friend. What was her name?”

“Ty Lee,” Azula grits out, her face a mask of fury, and Zuko finally realizes what Azula’s tipping point was. Why she was so consumed by grief these past weeks. What he also realizes, however, is that their father is likely buying time for the royal guard to approach, to surround them. 

“We need to go,” Zuko says, and Azula gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

And then she does perhaps the most Azula thing Zuko has ever seen. She sets the garden on fire, a wall of heat separating them from their father.

“This isn’t over,” Ozai yells over the roar of the fire, “you can’t run forever!”

“We don’t intend to,” Zuko manages. And then he and Azula are off. Both trying to steady their breathing. He thinks he sees Azula wipe a tear with her sleeve, and files that information away for later examination. Azula is so much more human than he has ever given her credit for.

They ride for several days, enough time to get across the border which separates Fire Nation from the Water Tribes. 

It’s then, in lands neither of them know, with too much money to do anything conspicuously, Agni gives them an opportunity.

It’s a training ground, one for the Southern Water Tribe’s Army. Zuko wasn’t even aware they had one, but it makes sense considering how much territory Ozai has invaded. They’re smart to prepare for war.

As he and Azula observe, however, something becomes apparent. This place isn’t for experienced soldiers. There are no women, which is a tad bizarre, but the trainees of the camp are boisterous and cheerful, men who have never seen the consequences of war, what it does to everything you hold dear. They don’t see it as a necessity, a fight for survival. No, to these men, this is just a game.

“The chief must hate whoever is in charge,” Azula mutters, gesturing at the recruits’ pathetic attempts at hand-to-hand combat, “because none of these men are soldiers. Their commander is being set up to fail.”

“This is where we hide,” Zuko says in lieu of a response, and for once, he’s actually the smart one. 

Azula’s eyes widen. “He’d never look here.” The small smile on her face tells Zuko that she’s thinking the same thing that he is: this is a perfect sort of revenge. 

By some twist of fate (actually, a large sum of money) he and Azula manage to each gain a set of conscription papers from brothers who had once lived in the Fire Nation. Li and Ping. He’d been happy with his name, Azula wasn’t so lucky, grumbling about how the Water Tribe should pay respect to their women, and never name anyone Ping. 

He doesn’t blame her. 

Zuko quickly realizes, as he and Azula attend their first day of training, that perhaps the Southern Water Tribe has managed to place all of their worst fighters in the same regiment.

“Dismount your horse when speaking to your superior,” a voice says, unnecessarily aggressively. Zuko wasn’t even aware he was talking to his superior.

“Me?” He asks. Azula’s posture is stiff, as if she’s awaiting a punishment.

“Both of you.” The voice asserts, and he dismounts and faces its owner, a tall man with bright blue eyes. Zuko doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes that blue before. They’re fixed on Zuko. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Li.” Zuko says, wishing he was as good a liar as Azula. “My name is Li. Uh, sir.”

“Are you a bender?”

“No, sir.” 

The blue-eyed man gestures at his twin swords. “Are you trained?”

Zuko isn’t sure if he should be entirely truthful, so he elects to respond with a “somewhat.” 

The man nods. “That’s more than most of these men can say.”

Behind him, Azula clears her throat. “We,” her voice is a terrible attempt at a man’s, “are trained in the fighting style of the fire nation.”

“Fire Nation?” The blue-eyed man narrows his eyes. “Yet you’re here.”

“Our mother was a refugee,” Azula says. She’s always been a good liar. “The Fire Nation has never been hospitable.” She spits out the last word like it’s a curse, and the blue-eyed man seems appeased. He nods.

“I’ll see you two at training,” he says. “We start in an hour.”

He’s long gone before Zuko realizes that he never told them his name. 

“Seems nervous,” Zuko says, once the man is out of earshot.

“I would be too, if the only competent soldiers in my entire fleet were from the Fire Nation.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

It turns out, it’s not. They’re a measly lot, an assortment of barely older than teenage boys and a girl, dressed in what Zuko assumes to be the uniform of a medic, who looks like she’s related to the captain. They have the same captivating blue eyes. 

The regiment is, in all honesty, pretty pathetic.

And the Captain— Sokka, Zuko learns, seems to see that as well.

Sokka is easily the most beautiful person Zuko has ever seen, and it really does not help that Sokka chooses now to shed his shirt, exposing muscles that look like they’ve been hand-sculpted by the gods. Zuko can feel his face heating up, and he hears Azula snort next to him, probably because the tips of his ears are turning red as well. 

“Looks like we have a volunteer.”

Sokka isn’t looking at Azula. He’s looking at Zuko. _Born lucky, lucky to be born_ , his mind supplies. “Sir?”

“Spar with me.”

_What the fuck?_ “I don’t understand.”

“Step up, Li.”

So he does, nearly tripping over his own feet as he approaches Sokka in the area that’s been allotted for sparring. His captain looks less than impressed. “Never mind,” he says. “You’re clearly not ready.”

_Not ready?_ “Excuse me?” Zuko says, his hands clenched at his sides. From the corner of his vision, he can see that Azula’s usually neutral expression has turned somewhat panicked. Well, as panicked as can be expected from Azula. “I’m prepared, I assure you.”

This is probably not the right thing to say, because now he’s practically issued Sokka a challenge, and in doing so, has challenged his leadership. Diplomacy really was never Zuko’s strong suit. 

Surprisingly, Sokka doesn’t lash out. Instead, his blue eyes flash with something imperceptible, and he fixes Zuko with a look he doesn’t quite know what to do with. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”

Zuko hates making the first move, but it doesn’t seem like Sokka will, so he feigns a lunge to see what the Captain will do. 

He doesn’t fall for it, but his blue eyes gleam with amusement. Zuko tries not to think about how those eyes will probably appear in his dreams. Best not to. 

“Not bad.” Sokka says.

_Not bad? What’s it take to impress this guy?_

They exchange a few hits, nothing impressive. Sokka even manages to land a punch. To be honest, Zuko is sort of amazed. He might be nobody now, but he’s been trained in combat since he was a child. The captain, while clearly being set up to fail, is not incompetent.

Still, Zuko knows he’s winning. That is until Sokka’s hands are on his wrists and the pain from the pressure on the barely healed burns is too much to handle and he bites his tongue to keep from crying out in agony. He forces himself onto the ground just to get out of it, honour and duty be damned. 

He closes his eyes, waiting for what will undoubtedly be some sort of harsh punishment. It never comes. Instead, he feels the ghost of a touch on his wrists, gentle enough that it doesn’t irritate his burns.

Warily, he opens his eyes to see his captain standing over him, concern and confusion etched into his expression. “You should have reported your injuries to me.” 

“Didn’t seem relevant,” Zuko says. Everyone is staring, and he hates it. 

“I could have seriously hurt you.”

“So?” _Suffering will be your teacher._

“So?” Sokka echos, looking awestruck. “You can’t fight a war if you’re already dead.”

“Those are some bad burns,” the girl Zuko assumes is Sokka’s sister says—the family resemblance is impossible to ignore. “Did you piss off a fire bender?”

Zuko manages a weak laugh. Tries not to visibly pale. “Just a cooking incident.” He replies, willing his expression to stay neutral. 

“Katara,” Sokka says. “Can you heal him?”

The girl, Katara, gives a small nod. “I’ll have him beating you in no time, captain.”

There’s a swell of laughter from the group, and Sokka wheels around, probably to assert his authority, but by that point Zuko is too far away to hear it. 

Later, when Katara has finished her (actually quite impressive) water bending and his wounds are almost healed, he eats alone, away from the others. Azula already seems to have a small posse of admirers. He prefers to keep his distance. Some things never change.

“So Li, where did you learn to fight like that?”

Zuko looks up from his meal to see Captain Sokka. His blue eyes are sparkling as he apparently invites himself to eat with Zuko — despite the fact that he’s his superior and such blatant disregard for formalities would be considered treacherous in the Fire Nation. The water tribes are very different, Zuko supposes. 

“My father insisted on training for combat.” Which was true, although he probably shouldn’t be honest. “I wasn’t a bender, so I needed other strengths.” Honestly? That statement is more of a truth than it is a lie. 

“Smart man,” the captain says, though Zuko doubts he’d be saying that if he knew it was the Firelord he was praising. 

“He had his moments.” Zuko replies, gritting his teeth. His temper has always been one of his many weaknesses.

Sokka must pick up on the past-tense, because he frowns. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m not,” Zuko responds, before he can think better of it. He wishes his father was dead. Sokka’s frown deepens. 

Sokka blinks at him, and Zuko tries to memorize the colour of his eyes. He’s never seen anyone with eyes like Sokka. He knows he’s been staring too long, because Sokka clears his throat.

“As you were.” He says, suddenly the picture of professionalism. And then he’s gone, and Zuko is left wondering what in Agni’s name just happened. 

“Oh, brother.” Azula has sauntered over, watching him with amusement in her amber eyes. “You really know how to pick ‘em, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You,” she punctuates each word with a teasing jab to his chest, “have a crush on him.”

“I do not,” Zuko hisses. “He’s a talentless brute.”

Azula’s eyes widen in mock disbelief. “Harsh!” She drawls. “Captain Sokka is trying his best.”

“He is.” Another voice asserts, and he and Azula turn to its owner, the small blue-eyed woman who seems to be the camp’s medic. Katara. “And you’d be best not to disrespect him.”

Before Zuko can stutter out an apology, Azula rolls her eyes. “You’re a little biased, aren't you?” She says, adding a mocking, “Kat.”

The waterbender’s eyes widen almost comically. She glares at Azula. “What’s your name?”

“Ping.” Azula says it like it’s the worst thing she’s ever heard. “Our parents had a clear favourite.” She gestures to Zuko. _Ironic._

“You’re siblings.” Katara says. She almost sounds surprised.

“Yes.” Zuko replies, mostly so that Azula won’t say something else to piss Katara off. 

“Huh.” Katara says, her blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. She seems to be pondering something. 

Azula rolls her eyes.

“I believe our regiment is now complete,” Sokka addresses them after lunch, his expression unreadable. “It’s time to truly begin. First, a challenge.”

He pulls a bow out from the weapons shelf beside him, his blue eyes focused on the top of the oak pillar that stands in the centre of the camp. Zuko estimates that it’s about thirty feet tall.

“Retrieve the arrow.” Sokka says, firing directly into the top of the pillar. The soldiers begin to whisper amongst themselves, no doubt trying to be the first one to reach the top. 

“But don’t forget these.”

The excited chatter stops. Everyone looks at the two metal circles that their captain has tossed into the grass. They both land with a thud, clearly due to their massive weight. Most of the recruits visibly pale at the sight of them.

Zuko watches as, one-by-one, each man fails to climb to the top. The person who gets the closest is Azula, and even she barely gets halfway. Sokka’s expression fades quickly from one of amusement to one of disappointment. There’s something no one is getting, Zuko knows this, but he doesn’t know what. 

Finally, it gets to his turn. He doesn’t even get six feet up. The laughter is humiliating.

Sokka’s expression is blank, his blue eyes hard. Nothing like the person he saw so briefly during mealtime. By the time the sun sets, everyone is disgusting, sweaty, and exhausted. Neither Zuko nor Azula is too affected, mostly due to obsessive training as per the orders of their father, but Zuko tries to pretend he’s on the verge of exhaustion. It isn’t too hard, considering how poorly he did with Sokka’s challenge. Might as well keep the expectations low.

He doesn’t miss the look on Sokka’s face as he and Azula turn in for the night. Pure irritation.

When Zuko leaves their tent the next morning, he’s greeted by the cool fall air. Definitely a sort of refreshing he hasn’t experienced in years, not since Iroh was banished. Many of the soldiers are already awake, doing basic stretches as the sun slowly lifted. Well. At least they could do that.

Azula’s grumbling interrupted the otherwise quiet morning, her hair a mess from sleep. “What? This is a terrible time to wake up.”

Zuko stifles a laugh. When she isn’t murderous, Azula is almost endearingly grumpy. “Yes,” he says, for lack of anything better to say.

He follows Azula’s gaze as she looks to the top of the oak pillar, unsurprised to see the arrow still at the top. Movement from the large tent at the end of camp catches his attention, and he watches as Sokka steps out of his tent, his hair still messy from sleeping, not yet in the traditional wolf tail that Zuko now realizes seems to be custom for warriors. He’s wearing only his pants and boots. He’s as beautiful as he was yesterday, maybe even more so, framed by the golden light of the sunrise. Zuko can just make out the shapes of his muscles as Sokka stretches his arms above his head.

Oh. Agni help him.

Sokka must feel someone watching him, because his eyes meet Zuko’s only a second after Zuko has finished lamenting his fate. Zuko immediately looks away, too quickly for anyone to dismiss it as unintentional.

“That was subtle,” Azula whispers, and Zuko glares at her. She has the audacity to giggle.

The first activity of the day is sparring. Zuko and Azula pair up, mostly so that they don’t have to fight with any of the stooges. He can feel Sokka watching him as they spar, Azula beating him the majority of the time. She’s always been a better fighter. 

Honestly, it turns out to be the only activity of the day. They take a break for lunch, and then immediately go back to it. Zuko doesn’t even recognize that the day is almost over until the sun begins to set and Sokka approaches them.

“Stop.” Sokka says, and Zuko immediately drops Azula on the ground. She muffles a shriek into her sleeve, tripping him as she goes down. 

“Captain,” she says, looking up at him from her place in the dirt. “How can we help you?”

“You’re dismissed.” He says. “Both of you.”

“Excuse me?” Zuko grits out, locking eyes with Azula. “On what grounds?”

“You aren’t taking this seriously.” Sokka says, and Azula rolls her eyes.

“But they are?” She gestures at the rest of the soldiers, most of whom are landing comically poor hits. It is, for lack of a better word, pathetic. 

“You think you’re above the rest of them.” Sokka says.

“We are.” Azula says, and Zuko cringes. They probably aren’t helping themselves. “It’s the second day, you don’t seriously believe we’ll-”

“Captain,” he interrupts Azula before she can dig their grave any deeper. “We’re here to fight for the Southern Water Tribe.”

“You’re a good fighter, Li.” Sokka says, and Zuko’s pulse picks up at the sudden praise. Agni, he is stupid. “But I don’t want either of you in my battalion.”

“Because we’re better fighters than you?” Azula asks, her tone hard. “Seems awfully petty, Captain.”

“Go home.” Sokka says. And then he walks away.

If only he knew how impossible that command was for them to obey.

“I’m going to bed,” Azula says. “I got us into this camp, now it’s your turn. Keep us in.”

“But how?”

“How should I know, brother?”

Zuko can’t bring himself to reply to Azula as she turns and leaves. He watches her disappear into their tent, and for a while, he just stands there, that is until a glimmer in the grass catches his eye.

He’s never been one for plans. He’s too impulsive for that. But as he looks at the weights in the grass, at the arrow that still rests atop the pillar, a plan begins to form in his head.

Zuko steels himself for what’s ahead, and throws the two weights around the pillar, barely suppressing a cheer as he feels them interlock on the other side. He pulls it tight, letting the leverage balance him. With every other step, Zuko has to push weights higher up the pillar; but once they lock in again, he’s able to go higher, eventually, he’s able to get higher than even Azula did. The pain in his wrists is immense, as the ribbon rubs against the mostly healed burns, but he wills himself to keep going. 

He’s reaching the top as the sun comes up. Distantly, he hears cheers, recognizing Azula as being the loudest of all. She’s a lot more human now that they’re away from Ozai. As he looks down, resting his elbow on one leg and his non-scarred cheek on his hand, Zuko realizes he’s gained a sort of crowd, most of the soldiers watching him as he throws the arrow down. It lands at Sokka’s feet. Sokka, whose smile is wide, blue eyes almost clear in the morning sunlight. He’s captivating, and Zuko can’t look away, he’s **that** beautiful. It really isn’t fair. 

As quickly as the smile appears, it’s gone. Replaced with a blank expression. “Get down from there.” Sokka says, and Zuko feels his heart drop to his stomach. 

“We have training to do.” Sokka adds.

Zuko doesn’t even need to look at Azula to know she’s smirking. He feels his face heat up, and prays to Agni that Sokka thinks it’s from physical exertion.

Sokka, Zuko learns, is a lot less serious than he pretends to be. He’s got an easy-going sense of humour, and he’s a good leader, one that people don’t hesitate to follow. He’s also a lot softer than Zuko would expect a captain to be, with a compassion Zuko has never believed to be custom for military leaders. Maybe that’s simply his personal experience, though. 

Either way, the weeks he spends under Sokka’s command bleed together, long enough that he begins to somewhat tolerate the other soldiers. They’re not bad. Mostly.

He and Azula tend to bathe away from the others. Azula, in some freshwater pool she refuses to tell him the location of, and Zuko in a more distant corner of the river that borders the training camp. They both have their reasons for wanting privacy, and while Azula’s is significantly more reasonable, Zuko can’t help the hatred of the communal baths. There’s too many marks on his body, scars he’d rather not explain.

Of course, the spirits have never liked him, and by the spirits he means Katara, who tells everyone that he's found the best spot to wash. It isn’t exactly serene after that. 

“I’m king of the rock!” One soldier shrieks, cannonballing into the water. Zuko resists the urge to roll his eyes. Must. Fit. In.

He decides to hide in the water until everyone is gone. It almost works. The river is eventually calm again and he’s left alone to wash, letting the cool water soothe his sore muscles. If he was back in the palace, he’d use some fire to warm up the water a little bit, just enough so that he’s not freezing. But it’s way too risky here, and Azula would probably murder him if his bathing habits were what got them caught. Instead, he suppresses a shiver and emerges from the water, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders. It does very little to ease the cold.

“Oh.” A voice says, and Zuko freezes, because he knows that voice. He’d probably know that voice anywhere, though he doesn’t particularly want to unpack what that means right now. 

Sokka is there, standing between him and the way back to the tents. His treacherous heart stutters. Sokka’s shirt is open, his bare chest toned and sculpted from marble. Not that Zuko is looking. Or admiring. Or anything. “Nice night,” he says when Zuko fails to say anything at all.

“Yes,” Zuko manages, not meeting Sokka’s gaze. Agni, why does everyone in the Southern Water Tribe have to be so comfortable barely dressed? He tries (and fails) not to blush. Thankfully, the night conceals his expression. At least, he hopes it does. In the moonlight, Sokka looks like a hero in the stories his mother used to tell him. It really isn’t fair. None of this would be happening if Azula had just told him where her luxury bathing area was. 

Zuko is fully prepared to leave. He’s managed to dress enough that he could probably walk confidently to his tent. But Sokka’s sharp intake of breath as Zuko steps into the dim light of the moon stops him in his tracks. The captain’s blue eyes are wide, no doubt seeing the scars that line Zuko’s chest. It’s sort of funny, because Zuko knows it looks so much worse in the daylight. He’d wager that Sokka can’t even see half of the marks he’s learned to live with.

He’s not used to being noticed, especially not by men like Sokka. Well, Zuko supposes, there’s no one like Sokka. Being noticed at all makes him feel completely vulnerable. He’s so much more comfortable concealed.

“Sir?” Zuko says, mostly for lack of anything better to say. “Something wrong?”

“Are those burn marks?” Sokka’s tone is lukewarm, hard to read. 

“Mostly.” Zuko says. No point in lying. He’d find out soon enough anyway. He doesn’t offer an explanation, and surprisingly, Sokka doesn’t push for an answer. If he notices the scars from too-violent sword fights, he doesn’t show it.

“There are so many,” Sokka says, his hands light as they land on Zuko’s chest. He hadn’t realized they were that close. 

Sokka seems to realize that this is a misstep at the same time as Zuko does, because he quickly steps back, blue eyes impossibly wider. “Is this why your father wanted you trained in combat?”

“Partially,” Zuko says. “My father never had high hopes for me. I think it was meant more as a distraction than anything else.” 

“You’ve been doing... well.” Sokka says, and Zuko blushes. He’ll never be used to any sort of praise. 

“Thank you,” he manages, trying not to overthink the lack of distance between them. The last time he felt like this, the sort of heartache that doesn’t go away, was when he was sixteen and running away from Ozai, on the ferry with Jet, the wind in his hair. 

Even then, he’s not sure he’s ever felt like this. 

“Li…”

“Captain?”

“Sokka.” It’s soft, like a promise. 

“Sokka...” Zuko echoes, trying out the name on his tongue. He’s never been allowed to call a superior by their first name before. Besides Iroh, he supposes, but that’s more of a fluke than anything else. He tries (and fails) not to overanalyze the reasoning behind it. It’s probably just another thing the Water Tribes don’t care about. Pointless formalities.

Agni, he can feel his ancestors rolling their eyes. 

Sokka’s hand comes up to the scar on his face, a gentle touch. Zuko takes in an involuntary breath, his mind racing. They’re close now, close enough that their noses are touching. Close enough that he closes his eyes, and leans in and — the kiss is quick, but the feeling of electricity is instantaneous. Zuko has never felt like this before.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, quickly stepping back. 

“Don’t be.” Zuko replies, before he can think things through. Sokka’s eyes drift back down to his lips. He sucks in a breath, and they’re kissing again, more frantic than before. Sokka’s hands lace through his nearly dry hair and Zuko hums into the kiss, all his fears momentarily forgotten. They’re both breathless when the kiss is broken, Sokka’s blue eyes on his, clearly searching for something. Zuko doesn’t know if he finds it. 

“We can’t do this.” Sokka murmurs, and Zuko wonders who exactly he’s trying to convince. “I was hard on you because of this. Because I wanted this. I’m sorry—”

“I want this.” Zuko says, for once not plagued by indecision. Then he kisses Sokka again. 

Zuko considers what Azula would do in a situation like this, and elects for the one thing he’s always been good at. Regrettably, he pulls away. Gives Sokka what he hopes is a soft smile. “Goodnight, Captain.” 

_Running away. He doesn’t look back._

Azula rolls her eyes when he comes into their tent, her amber eyes unreadable. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” She says.

“I don’t.”

She sighs. “I figured.”

The regiment, surprisingly, is actually improving. They’ve improved enough that they’ve received orders to march out. He and Azula haven’t really prepared for that, for going back into the Fire Nation territory. It’s Ba Sing Se, not technically Fire Nation, but still. 

He and Sokka have taken to meeting at night, by the water. Zuko isn’t an idiot, he knows that relationships between soldiers are not uncommon, but that’s not what this is. At least, he hopes it isn’t. Sokka’s blue eyes pierce his soul, leaving him completely defenceless. Zuko isn’t even sure that Sokka understands just how much power he has.

Even if, by the grace of Agni, Sokka feels the same way, he feels that way about Li. Li, an Earth Kingdom refugee. Li, who isn’t the son of a dictator. Every part of himself that he gives to Sokka is through deception, through his captain thinking he’s someone else. That he’s worthy of love. 

Sokka will inevitably find out the truth, he has to remind himself. When that happens, all of this will be gone. All that will be left is the memory of Sokka’s feather light touch, and the knowledge that he’s destined to be alone. That someone like Sokka will never be meant for someone like him.

The soldiers make idle talk as they march towards Ba Sing Se, with the men pestering Azula about her love life. She’s way too popular for her own good. “Do you have a girl worth fighting for?” One of them asks her, and Azula... _Azula blushes_ . Azula, the princess that even their father’s advisors were terrified of, _is. Blushing._ “I like a girl that’s got a brain,” She grins, and Zuko knows she’s telling the truth. That was one thing they had in common. An inability to produce an heir. “Who always speaks her mind.” From the corner of his vision, Zuko sees Katara duck her head, trying to hide her red cheeks.

_Huh. When did that happen?_

“What about you, brother?” Azula says, her voice full of amusement. There’s no cruelty to it, and Zuko realizes that this fact doesn’t surprise him anymore. It’s a nice realization. “I bet the ladies love a man in armour.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, immediately blanking on anything witty to say. “Um.”

“He’s always been like that,” Azula drawls to the other soldiers, “such a charmer. 

He glares in response. She shrugs, grinning. He turns his attention to Druk instead, who is pulling a wagon full of explosives. He and Azula may be carefree now, but every step they take puts them nearer to their father, nearer to the inevitable consequences they’ll face for betraying him. And they both know that any solution is only temporary. 

It gets colder as they make headway to Ba Sing Se, choosing the mountain pass through a village Zuko distantly remembers being somehow important in The Water Tribes’ history, in being a meeting place for their leaders. He’s not sure how much of the history he knows is real, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s been pretty much only Fire Nation propaganda since the beginning of Sozin’s reign.

Someone is whistling an out of tune version of a song Uncle used to sing. It’s strangely comforting, lulling him into a sort of rest as they march along the trail. He catches Sokka’s eye and attempts to smile, ducking his head when he knows his cheeks have gone red. It’s almost comfortable. 

Then the whistling stops, and Zuko sees why. A totally devastated village lies ahead, the only evidence that it was actually there being the burning debris from what used to be buildings. Behind him, he hears Katara gasp. 

“I don’t understand,” she says. “Bato should have been here.”

Sokka’s voice rings out through the chaos, heavy with grief. “I think he was.” In his hands is an intricate warrior’s helmet, one Zuko assumes must belong to the person they speak of, _Bato_. Tentatively, he takes a step towards the edge of the trail, already preparing himself for something he knows he’ll see.

The hill is littered with bodies, most of which being those of the Southern Water Tribe. There’s a few with the Fire Nation uniform, but they’re barely older than fourteen. Child soldiers. His father has truly reached a new low. “Captain,” he says. “Look over here.”

Sokka’s expression goes blank when he sees the bodies. Zuko can’t imagine the sort of pain he’s dealing with. Katara stands next to him, her dark hair blowing in the cold wind of the mountains, eyes watery. He and Azula lock eyes, the reality of the situation dawning on them both at the same time. They know this strategy. They were trained in this strategy. Agni, he wagers Azula has even overseen this strategy being enacted. 

“Take cover!” Azula screams, pushing Katara down as a distant fireball blasts at them. Sokka’s eyes widen in realization, and then he’s running to the wagon, shouting at the soldiers to the explosives at the incoming Fire Nation army. 

“If we die,” Sokka says, scarily determined, “we die with honour.” 

_It’s probably not a question of if, Zuko thinks. It’s a question of when._

But Zuko and Azula both know there are too many Fire Nation soldiers and too few of them. She nods to the last explosive, then up to an unsteady pile of snow at the peak of the mountain. They both know he has to do it, because Azula can’t risk throwing herself into an opportunity to be injured, not with what she has to conceal. 

So Zuko takes it and starts sprinting, ignoring Sokka’s shouts at him to stop. He can’t hesitate, not if they want to survive. When he reaches the spot with the best angle (regrettably close to the incoming Fire Nation Army) he pushes the explosive into the snow, ready to set it alight.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, princey.” _No. No. No._

“General Zhao.” He says, willing his matches to light. They don’t.

“Can’t even bend now?” The General taunts, and the sneer that accompanies it reminds him why Zhao was always one of his father’s favourites. He supposes common cruelty must bring people together. "No wonder your father threw you out." _Huh. That's what Ozai is saying happened?_

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zuko grits out. “Why not strike me down? Or do you have to wait for your soldiers to do the job for you?”

Zhao snarls and lunges at him, a maneuver he’s barely able to avoid. His matches fall to the snow. Well. Guess the choice has been made for him. 

With the tiniest spark from his fingers, Zuko lights the explosive, sending it off to the peak. Zhao, unaware of his intended target, smirks. “You missed.”

“No,” Zuko says, watching as Zhao turns to see what he was aiming for. The General’s expression quickly goes from one of mockery to one of fear, and Zuko thinks that if he were to die in this moment, he’d be okay with that. Just for the look on Zhao’s face. Zhao, who is now moving forward with his sword aimed for Zuko’s throat—

The swipe is blocked by another sword, the clash of steel ringing in Zuko’s ears. Sokka is upon them, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration. He disarms Zhao easily, and Zuko can’t help the swell of pride in his chest. The General was always too cocky for his own good.

“Yield,” Sokka says.

“Do you know who you’re protecting?” Zhao smirks, posturing himself into a fighting stance. Zuko knows that stance, and he knows that he has to make a choice. So he does and prays Azula won’t hate him for it. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be so eager.” Sokka’s grip on his sword doesn’t falter, but Zuko sees the confusion flickering in his expression.

Zhao’s fire is quick, but Zuko is quicker, his arms up in a barrier between Sokka and Zhao before the General’s fire can do any damage. The flame is more powerful than he intends, probably a result of build-up over the past month. It melts the snow around them in a large circle, and he hates the way Sokka looks at him for it. 

The oncoming avalanche is enough to get Zhao away from them, swept away in the ever-growing current. Zuko prays to Agni that he’s dead. 

He looks at Sokka, seemingly too shocked to move, and does something he’s always been good at. “Run.” He breathes, tugging Sokka along with him, praying he won’t let go. The world roared around them, the sounds of Fire Nation soldiers being crushed in the chaos. Zuko knows these are experienced soldiers, people who Zhao trusts. He’s trying to reassure himself, to justify his actions. It doesn’t work.

A stray snowball flies at them, big enough to knock a man unconscious. Zuko blasts it with fire, and pretends not to be affected when Sokka visibly flinches. The cliffside is quickly approaching, and Zuko tries to think of a way out, something that doesn’t end in immediate death, when Sokka jerks him sideways, off his balance. His heart pounds in his throat as Sokka pulls them under a large rock, stuck up enough to create some sort of enclave. He’s watching the snow rush past like the waves on Ember Island, the current causing ripples of white. Belatedly, he admires the beauty of it, and then the world goes dark.

“Brother.” Azula’s voice awakens him, in a tent he doesn’t recognize. Her amber eyes are impossibly relieved. “Thank Agni.”

He manages to sit up, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles. “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” She says, biting her lip. It’s an odd expression for Azula, she almost looks stressed. “Yes and no.” She lifts her shirt, revealing a bandaged wound on her abdomen. “It’s just a flesh wound,” she reassures him, seeing his terrified expression.

“But that means—“

“Yes,” Azula sighs. “Katara knows. Well, she knew already but now—“

She’s interrupted by the flap of the tent opening, letting the cold air in. There, in the entryway, is Sokka. Azula looks between the two of them, shoots Zuko an apologetic glance, and then gets out at a speed that is almost inhumanly fast. He doesn’t really blame her.

“Sokka?” Zuko is trying to read Sokka’s expression, but it’s dangerously blank.

“Captain,” Sokka corrects, and Zuko feels his heart constrict. 

“Captain.” He echoes, trying not to appear hurt. He deserves this. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Sokka says, his voice harsh. “You’re a firebender.”

“Yes,” Zuko says, fighting to keep his voice steady. This reaction makes sense, but he also saved Sokka’s life. Does that mean nothing? Does he mean nothing to Sokka? “I am.”

“Who are you?” Sokka’s voice is laced with suspicion, and Zuko wishes he was back by the water, back in Sokka’s arms, back when he could pretend everything was simple. “I’m not a complete fool, Li. I know that you’re lying to me.”

“What do you want to know?” Zuko asks, against his better judgement. 

“That general knew who you were,” Sokka says. It’s not a question but he clearly expects an answer.

“Yes,” Zuko replies, thinking of Zhao’s expression when he saw the avalanche. “He was well acquainted with my father.” 

“Is Li your real name?”

“No.”

“What is it, then?”

Zuko sighs. It’s a fair question, and he really can’t refuse Sokka. “Zuko.” 

“Zuko.” Sokka repeats, and Zuko watches as the realization dawns on him. “ _Zuko Zuko? Fire Prince Zuko?”_

“The one and only,” he deadpans, which is clearly not the right thing to say. 

“So you’ve been playing me this whole time,” Sokka spits, no light in his bright blue eyes. “What was that little stunt on the mountain? You wanted to gain my trust? You wanted me to bend to your will?”

“No!” Zuko snaps, hastily sitting up straighter, like it’ll make Sokka take him seriously. “Of course not. We really are refugees, Sokka.”

Sokka doesn’t correct him, and he feels the hope in his chest before he can rationalize it, before he can come to terms with the fact that Sokka will never see him like that. “We?” Sokka says instead, his eyes narrowing. “Who is Ping? Your royal boyfriend?”

Zuko can’t help it, he laughs. Despite the situation, despite Sokka now looking at him like he’s insane, it is funny. He has to admit.

“She’s my sister.” He answers, watching as Sokka’s eyes widen. “Azula. Ask Katara, she knows.”

If Sokka is surprised by the mention of his sister, he doesn’t show it. “Isn’t that overkill? Having both royal siblings go undercover to take down a tiny part of the enemy’s army?”

“Ozai has risked more for far less,” Zuko says, before he realizes how it sounds. “We aren’t spies. We were seeking refuge. That’s it.”

“How did you get your conscription papers? Did you kill the real Li and Ping?”

Zuko’s heart aches. This is how low Sokka thinks of him? “Of course not!” He knows he sounds exasperated, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Do you really think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know who you are,” Sokka says, in lieu of a response. His blue eyes are piercing. 

“You do.” Zuko insists, trying not to sound desperate. “Sokka, you do. The only thing I lied about was my identity, that's it. Everything I feel for you, that’s real. And I know you feel something for me too.” Actually, he doesn’t know that. But he takes a risk, reaches out his hand to touch Sokka’s face and—

And Sokka flinches, stepping back. “Katara healed you.” He makes no move to acknowledge anything Zuko has just said. His eyes betray nothing. “I want you dressed and outside in ten minutes.”

Zuko nods numbly, his body moving of his own accord. Sokka’s hand wraps around his wrist. For a second, there's only affection in his gaze and Zuko doesn’t understand it. It has to be some sort of trick. “Your scars..?” Sokka asks, his tone soft, soft like it was that night by the water.

“Who do you think?” Zuko responds, barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. _What does he have to lose now? He’s already going to be killed._

Sokka’s grip tightens, in a way that isn’t uncomfortable. “Oh.” He breathes, his expression is unreadable. 

Then he lets go. Zuko immediately mourns the loss of contact. 

Sokka doesn’t even give him a chance to respond to this bizarre interaction before he’s left the tent. The cold breeze his exit brings in wakes Zuko from his stupor. “I’m sorry,” Zuko says, to no one in particular. He’d never meant it to get this far, had he? He’d never meant for any of this to happen, he just wanted a safe place for him and Azula. Of course, the safest place he could find was in the middle of a war they instigated. 

The mountain air is cold, the kind of cold he used to yearn for back in the palace. It’s the kind of weather that reminds you that you’re alive. He used to need that reminder, that each day of his palace routine wasn’t some sort of spirit world prison he couldn’t escape. Now, he isn’t so sure he wants that reminder. Maybe it would be easier if this was all some sort of torture scenario.

Azula watches him intently as he leaves the tent, finality in her gaze. “That was idiotic,” she says. “Saving him.” She’s wearing her hair down, not bothering to hide her gender any longer. Zuko supposes that they both know it’s all over.

“I couldn’t let him die.” Zuko replies. Azula nods. She isn’t exactly appeased, but she seems to understand. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes graze over Katara.

“Li. Ping.” Sokka’s voice is aggressive, like it was on that first day. It’s funny how things are like that, always going back to where they started from. 

“Sir?” He and Azula speak in unison, though she is significantly more sarcastic. Their eyes meet, and he knows what she’s thinking. _Why isn’t Sokka exposing them?_

Sokka unsheathes his sword, and Zuko sees Katara stumble forward, about to protest. She knows the truth, and she still cares for Azula. Distantly, Zuko wonders what that feels like.

But Katara’s words are unnecessary, because Sokka throws his sword down onto the ground next to Zuko. _He’s sparing them._

“I’m sorry,” Zuko manages, because apparently, that’s all he knows how to say. He’s trying not to beg. _Begging is unbecoming, so he’s been told._ “Please, So—” he sees Sokka grimace at the slip-up, and immediately corrects himself, “Captain. Forgive me.”

“You saved my life,” Sokka says, and for a second he seems softer, like he’ll take it all back. But then his expression turns cold once more. “That’s why I’m sparing yours. Nothing more to it.” And then he turns away, and Zuko wonders if he’ll ever see those blue eyes again. In the corner of his vision, he sees Katara glare at Azula, but it has no bite. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears. She says something to Azula, too quiet for him to overhear, Azula nods, and then Katara is gone. Following her brother and his troops into the snowy wasteland. She looks back, just once. Sokka doesn’t. Zuko tries not to look too affected. 

“Thank you,” he tells Sokka’s retreating shadow. It doesn’t respond. 

Azula sighs. 

“At least we have our horses.” She says.

“Yay.” Zuko deadpans. Azula rolls her eyes, but it’s robotic. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her, sliding down into the snow. She warms up the air around them and they sit like that for a long time. 

They sit there long enough to see a Fire Nation messenger hawk fly overhead, for Zuko to catch the parchment that definitely isn’t for them in shaking hands. It’s meant for the people who are supposed to be here. Who is supposed to be here?

_Zhao,_

It starts, and Zuko recognizes that scrawl, intimidating yet elegant. Beside him, Azula swallows a gasp. She looks like she’s trying not to set the paper alight.

_Things in Ba Sing Se are going well. Preparations are almost finished. I have the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe coming into the city for negotiations tomorrow. He’s supposed to be bringing his best warriors. I doubt we’ll have such a crowd._

_It’s too bad his love story met such a tragic end, isn't it? Perhaps the historians will get a play out of this yet._

_He’ll get what’s coming to him, and things will be all the better for it._

It’s not signed because it can't be, because even with its vagueness, it’s clear what Ozai is saying. He’s got an ambush prepared, and it doesn’t matter how smart the Water Tribe Chief may be. Because his best warriors are all dead. Because the only people standing between his father and the last threat to his empire is a regiment of teenage boys, an extremely powerful water bender, and Sokka. 

Azula curses, untangling herself from Zuko and standing up. For a second, they look at each other. She tries to glare, he tries to look indifferent. They both fail.

“Well.”

“So.” 

“Zuzu and Azula save the world.” Azula drawls, and Zuko can’t help the laughter that spills out of him, eliciting a smile from Azula. It’s probably hysteria, but who’s to say?

“Can we kill him?” Zuko asks, and Azula snorts.

“I think he would make a good jester,” she says. “We could get him slippers with bells on them.” 

They make it to Ba Sing Se by dawn. In the quiet of the morning, it really is beautiful. It’s so easy to ignore the corruption embedded in the city when there’s no one around. They hide their horses in an abandoned stable and set off for the city centre. It’s a nice morning, one that makes Zuko want to forget all about yesterday, all about what’s coming.

But he isn’t his mother. That simply isn’t an option.

There are surprisingly few guards stationed around the city, certainly not enough to make outmaneuvering them a difficult feat. There’s a few wanted posters of him and Azula up, citing they’re mentally disturbed and dangerous. Azula’s looks like her, but Zuko’s looks like…..like someone tried to draw him with their eyes closed. The scar is on the wrong side, it’s all rather disappointing.

They reach the Jasmine Dragon as it opens, with Azula immediately switching the sign to Closed. The worker opening glares at her, Azula glares back. Zuko’s about to attempt some sort of conflict resolution when-

“Nephew?” It’s Uncle, who looks the same as Zuko remembers him. Dimly, Zuko recognizes Iroh dismissing the employee with the promise of the day’s pay, and Azula hanging back, looking uncharacteristically timid. Then Iroh’s arms are around him, and Zuko barely swallows a sob. Iroh really is the only father figure he’s ever had.

Azula clears her throat. “This reunion is touching,” she drawls, though it lacks its usual bite, “but Zuzu and I are here on business.”

Iroh takes a step back, usually kind eyes narrowing in suspicion. Zuko hates how much it makes him look like Ozai. “What sort of game are you playing, Azula?”

“You’re hurting my feelings,” Azula drawls, her tone a great deal harsher than Zuko has heard from her in a long time. But the viciousness in her voice is offset by the sadness in her amber eyes, like she expected this. 

“Uncle.” Zuko says, going to stand by his sister. “She saved my life. She’s the reason we were able to escape the palace. I’d hope that you could show her the kindness you’ve shown me.”

Iroh’s gaze leaves Azula, his eyes finding Zuko’s. He nods. “I’m sorry, niece.”

“Whatever,” Azula replies, though she does look slightly less on-guard. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Ozai.” Iroh’s brow furrows. “I’ve heard of the negotiations.”

“Negotiations.” Azula echoes, her voice laced with sarcasm. “And I’m the Avatar.”

Iroh ignores the comment, nodding his head. “I will take care of what’s left of the army.”

“What’s left?” Azula repeats, unbelieving. “What do you mean?”

Zuko thinks of the children on the mountain. Of Zhao’s soldiers being buried in the snow. “I knew we didn’t have enough soldiers.”

Iroh nods. “Your father mistakes desperation for ambition,” he remarks. “His most experienced soldiers are dead.”

“Agni.” Zuko hears Azula murmur, her expression a mix between sorrow and disdain. “So, what? You’ll destroy what’s left of Father’s army with some anecdotes about tea?”

“Uncle is a war criminal,” Zuko says, eliciting a snort from Azula. “He could probably do it.”

“Fine,” she relents, “say you do that. What are we supposed to do? Sit here and look pretty?”

They both know what’s being left unsaid. That they’re going to have to face their father. 

“Ozai will be holding a welcoming ceremony for the Southern Water Tribe Chief this evening.” Their uncle replies. “You’re both underdressed.”

That’s how he and Azula end up dressed in the robes of Earth Kingdom royalty, courtesy of some historians’ guild that owed Iroh a favour. If Zuko had to guess, he’d say that the nobles the clothes belonged to were probably dead, but he pushes the thought from his head when it occurs to him that his father would likely have been the one ordering the killing. It really is too small a world. 

They manage to find their way into the welcome ceremony, too extravagant for anyone to actually keep track of who is and isn’t permitted in. It’s almost clumsy in its security, and Zuko wonders just how far his father has fallen since his children left in the middle of the night. Maybe they’ll get lucky, and Ozai will have suddenly lost the ability to firebend. 

As usual, Azula figures it out first, and Zuko follows her gaze to the small regiment in the middle of the square. “Wow.” She says. “She looks beautiful.”

Katara is dressed in what Zuko assumes to be the traditional dress of the Southern Water Tribe. Her long dark hair cascades down her back, almost like a waterfall. And Sokka, Sokka stands next to her, his hair out of his usual wolf tail, falling neatly at his chin. He’s got his sword, but is wearing none of the usual armour that Zuko’s become so accustomed to seeing on him. His robes match Katara’s, and Zuko can’t help the sharp intake of breath when Sokka turns his head and Zuko sees his blue eyes, clouded by an emotion he’s too far away to decipher. 

Because the spirits hate him, Sokka chooses that moment to look Zuko’s direction, and their eyes meet. He thinks of how this must look, of him and Azula dressed like royalty at a welcome ceremony. Sokka looks like he’s about to surge towards them, and Zuko considers setting himself on fire right then and there, but Ozai’s booming voice interrupts his somewhat depressing thoughts. Huh. Ironic. 

“Citizens,” their father booms, and Zuko doesn’t miss the way Azula flinches. He grabs her hand, and when she looks at him, surprised, he makes some halfhearted excuse about needing to stick together. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t protest. 

“Today we usher in a new era for the Fire Nation,” Ozai steps aside to gesture for the Southern Water Tribe’s Chief, Hakoda, Zuko thinks his name is. He’s got startlingly clear blue eyes, dark hair and—

And Zuko finally makes the connection.

“The Captain is the Chief’s son.” Azula says, her eyes wide. She whistles quietly. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Shut up.” He mutters. It’s not as though Sokka would pick him back, especially now that he knows the truth. Azula shrugs, looking like she wants to respond with some sort of retort, but she never gets the chance to.

It all happens so quickly. He watches Sokka stumble back, watches as Hakoda and Ozai disappear into the building that used to be the Earth King’s palace. No one in the crowd seems all that surprised. It’s terrifying how easily people adjust to the elements of war. Like it everything has always been like this. 

Maybe it has always been like this. 

“We need to get in there,” he grits out to Azula, as she pushes past the now retreating crowd. Even the lanterns that adorn the square seem to be flickering out. 

She nods. “We’ll have to go past….” Azula stops, sighs. “Him.” 

Sokka hasn’t moved since his father’s hasty exit, which is not particularly stellar for them, because it means they’re now within arm's length of the man who probably wants them dead. 

“Hello,” Zuko manages, before Azula can elbow him in the ribs, “Zuko here.”

Azula gapes, probably trying to comprehend his stupidity. He doesn’t blame her. “Uh.” She says, probably the least eloquent thing he has ever heard her say. “No hard feelings, Captain?”

Well. At least they’re equally pathetic. Sokka just stares at them. 

“Oh-kay,” Azula drawls, clearly trying to look unimpressed. “Where’s Katara?”

“Right here.” Well, at least one of the Chief’s children can speak. “What the fuck, Azula?”

“Sorry.” Azula says. She doesn’t sound remotely remorseful. “Save your father now, fight later?”

Zuko snorts at her suggestion despite himself.

“Our dad can handle himself.”

“I’m sure,” Azula replies. “But our father doesn’t exactly fight fair.” 

Zuko gestures to his face. “Exhibit A.”

Katara’s blue eyes widen. She looks a little sad. “Okay. Save Dad.” She says. “Fight later.” 

Azula grins, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Why is your brother in some sort catatonic state?”

“I’m not,” Sokka says a bit too forcefully. They all turn to look at him. “I’m thinking.”

“Wow,” Katara says, despite the situation. “That’s a first.” 

“No time to think,” Azula deadpans. “Too much mental strain for you.” She gestures to the large pillars that hold up the balcony above the front entrance. “We won’t be able to enter through the front, but if we can scale those, we’ll have a way in.”

“A way in.” Sokka echoes. “I don’t trust you. Either of you.” _He won’t even look in Zuko's direction. That stings._

Azula looks like she wants to set Sokka’s hair on fire, so Zuko interjects. “Every minute we spend out here is a year off your father’s lifespan.”

“Dramatic,” Azula mutters, but she begins to climb the pillar anyways. “Come on, water tribe. I can’t stab you in the back while I’m using both of my hands.”

“Joke.” Zuko clarifies, as he follows suit. He hopes Sokka and Katara are doing the same, but who knows?

By the time they get up on the balcony, Iroh seems to have dealt with the remaining guards, because the palace is eerily quiet. Azula pushes open the double doors, leading to a chamber their father uses for political meetings. As if on cue, when Katara closes the doors behind them, their father enters the room with Hakoda, not yet spotting them. “Hide.” Azula hisses, as if it isn’t obvious. There are very few places that can conceal people in the room, and the spirits hate him, so Zuko finds himself pressed against Sokka behind the counter in the corner of the room. Sokka is very pointedly avoiding eye contact. Zuko suppresses a sigh, his eyes finding Azula’s, who is hiding behind a large potted plant. 

“Wait,” she mouths. 

“For what?” he mouths back, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Bow before me,” Ozai is saying, “and we can usher in a prosperous era together.”

“Bow?” That must be Hakoda.

“Yes.” Ozai says, like it’s obvious.

“I will never bow to you, Fire Lord.” In his peripheral vision, Azula looks somewhat impressed. 

“Then you will suffer greatly for it.” Ozai replies, and Zuko knows that tone. From the look on her face, Azula recognizes it as well. 

“Now.” She mouths, and they both jump from their respective hiding spots. 

It’s a somewhat awkward transition, clearly, because Ozai looks unimpressed. “You really think I didn’t know you were here?”

Azula blanches. “Well—”

“I didn’t expect you to try to come back, Azula. Perhaps I’ve underestimated you. If you kill your brother, I’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Azula snorts. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Zuko and Hakoda make eye contact. Zuko shrugs. Hakoda’s eyes widen in understanding. Even if he’s a better fighter than Ozai, it doesn’t matter. And they both know that.

“Stupid enough to walk into your own execution,” Ozai replies. “Really, Azula. I expected better.”

“Your diplomatic skills need some work,” Zuko says, finally finding his voice. “Murdering someone because they won’t bow to you doesn’t seem very effective.” 

I’ll deal with him,” Ozai says, casting a long look at Hakoda, “and then I will deal with you two. And you—”

He turns back to Azula. “You will wish you’d killed him.”

Azula’s left hand twitches and Zuko knows she’s trying to conceal the blue flame in her palm. 

“No,” she says, and Zuko knows the conversation has reached its end. “When I’m done with you, you’ll wish you died when Grandfather did.” And then she lunges at him.

Well. That’s one way to go about it. Ozai responds to Azula’s lunge with a fireball in Hakoda’s direction, one Zuko quickly jumps to redirect. The Chief, to his credit, has already dropped into a fighting stance. He’s hardly passive. That’s respectable.

“You missed,” Azula taunts, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Such a pity.” She really is skilled at getting under people’s skin. He knows from the way her flame flickers that she’s nervous, but you would never know from her expression. It’s perfectly blank.

_What are Sokka and Katara doing? Enjoying the show?_

“No,” Ozai is saying, his grin almost maniacal. “I have you both exactly where I want you.”

“What?” Azula’s amber eyes are wide with sudden fear, clearly realizing something Zuko hasn’t.

And then he realizes. He sees the glint in his father’s hand a second after Azula does, coming straight for him. Lightning. 

This was always how it was going to end. His father was always going to be the one who killed him. And it was always going to be in front of Azula. Somehow he knows this. That there are some things that are pre-written, a destiny you can’t escape.

But Azula—

Azula jumps in front of him, taking the lightning. She absorbs the entirety of the blow, crumpling onto the perfectly polished floor. She’s breathing, thank Agni, but she’s gone pale, an almost blue hue to her skin. 

Katara’s scream breaks him out of his stupor, as she runs to Azula’s side. Sokka is beside him in an instant, his eyes wide. 

Ozai frowns. “That was unexpected.”

“One of your children gets hit by a bolt of lightning and that’s your reaction?” Sokka’s voice seems different, like he’s fighting to keep it steady. Zuko doesn’t blame him. “Tui and La.”

“Technically he was the one who shot it,” Zuko supplies. No one laughs. Azula would have snorted, probably. _You know, if she wasn’t unconscious and/or dying._

“Oh, Zuko,” Ozai’s voice is grating, his beady eyes looking from him to Sokka. “Him? Really?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuko says, drawing his dao blades. “What did you say about these, Father? I believe you said it was sacrilege?”

Ozai blinks. “I don’t know what you’re playing at.” Agni, this is the least exciting confrontation in the history of history. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Pity you didn’t.” Zuko gives his best impression of Azula’s mocking tone. It falls flat. Worth a shot. He and Sokka lock eyes, both edging slowly forward. They nearly have Ozai surrounded, and he can only focus on one of them at once. 

“That’s kind of fucked up,” Sokka says. “Wanting your kid dead, I mean.”

Ozai’s gaze swivels to look at Sokka, and Zuko uses it to his advantage, sending a blast of fire directly at his father’s face. Elegant? Definitely not. But it does the trick. Ozai isn’t anticipating it, so he stumbles backwards, and Hakoda—Zuko forgot Hakoda was there, honestly—trips him. The Fire Lord’s head collides with the tile, knocking him out cold. 

“Wow.” Azula’s voice is hoarse, but it’s better than her being dead. “That was stupid.”

“You’re telling me.” Zuko drawls, immediately running to her side. “You scared me.”

“Hardly the first time,” Azula says, but she doesn’t shy away from Zuko’s embrace.

It’s far less complicated to deal with Ozai’s unconscious form than it should be. Seriously, why is there already a fireproof cage? 

_You know why,_ his mind supplies, _where do you think the insurgents went? The rebels that seemed to appear for a moment then vanish the next?_

He helps Azula up, the spot where the lightning hit an angry red. Katara’s nearly healed her, but it is sure to leave a scar. As if she’s reading his mind, Azula elbows him. “We match.” 

“Perfect,” he replies. “I hear the ladies dig battle scars.”

Azula sputters, “shut up!” 

He very pointedly ignores her. “I think someone wants to talk to you.” Katara is standing off to the side, looking nervously at Azula, because of course she is. Azula pushes him out the door.

“Bye,” she says. “I’ll see you at the Jasmine Dragon. Don’t wait up.”

He groans. They’re going to have to deal with a nation in complete turmoil, their father is definitely not completely out of the picture, and still Azula manages to get the girl. 

As he walks down the tiled hall, hand rubbing the now small scars on his wrists, he hears footsteps approaching. Soft, uncertain. Probably some unlucky servant.

“I’m sorry,” he says, without looking up. “You’re probably out of a job.”

“I don’t know,” Sokka’s voice answers, and Zuko’s head snaps up. “Seems like soldiers are in short supply these days.”

“Oh. Hi.” Eloquence, Zuko’s best trait. 

“You..” Sokka says, suddenly looking awkward, “you fight good.” They’ve reached the front entrance, the cool night greeting them as they step out of the palace.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, trying to conceal his disappointment. What did he expect, honestly? For Sokka to confess his undying love? _Yes,_ his treacherous mind supplies. He elects to ignore it. “I—” he pauses, considering his next words. The last words he will probably speak to Sokka, if he’s being honest with himself. If he’s being realistic. “I’ll see you around, Sokka.”

“You probably won’t,” Sokka replies, and Zuko feels himself nod numbly. “Goodbye, Zuko.”

“Zuko!” Hakoda’s voice is just as it was in Ozai’s “negotiations”, though it now carries far less hostility. “You're always welcome in the Southern Water Tribe. You and the scary girl.”

Zuko snorts, “I’m sure Azula will take you up on that offer. She’s quite fond of Katara.”

“So I see,” Hakoda replies with a grin, such a stark contrast to Ozai. “Give Iroh my regards, will you? Tell him we’re long overdue for a game of Pai Sho.”

At this point, his uncle’s connections don’t even surprise him. Zuko nods, “goodbye, sir.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” Hakoda says, in lieu of a response. “Repairing the damage to the four nations and all that.”

“That boy saved my life,” Zuko hears Hakoda say as he walks away, barely hearing Sokka’s grumbled response.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“What are you saying, Dad?”

“I’m saying,” Zuko can hear the eye roll in Hakoda’s voice, “you don’t meet a guy like that every dynasty.” 

For a second, Zuko thinks Sokka will run after him.

But he doesn’t, and Zuko walks back to the Jasmine Dragon alone. 

“Zuko!” His uncle greets him as he opens the door, the tea shop long closed. “Where’s Azula?”

“Right here,” Azula drawls, choosing this moment to enter. “Not dead, Uncle. I know, it’s a shame.”

Iroh laughs at that, “No, Azula. I’m glad.”

Azula shrugs, but her lips betray a hint of a smile. “Good. As you should be.”

“Were you behind me the whole time?” Zuko can’t help but ask, eyeing Azula.

Azula snorts. “No, Zuzu. Katara and I went for a walk, and now I’m here. Where’s the Captain?”

“Not here,” Zuko replies. “Probably as far away from me as he can get.”

“Oh,” Azula looks sort of sad. “Well. Uncle, do you have any food?”

Thank Agni for Azula and her inability to reassure people. Zuko doesn’t know what he’d do if she tried. Then he’d actually have to come to terms with the fact that Sokka doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

Iroh goes into the back to get the food he’s prepared, and Zuko and Azula supply him with a mostly accurate but probably overdramatic version of all they’ve been through since they disappeared from the palace. He seems delighted.

“But,” Iroh says, interrupting Azula's spiel on the harshness of surviving on the mountain, “how did you get to the Southern Water Tribe so quickl—”

He’s interrupted by a convenient knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” Zuko volunteers, mostly because he’s entirely convinced that Iroh will invite this person (probably some tea-loving old lady) to join them for dinner. 

At the door, however, is not a tea-loving old lady. It’s Sokka, looking like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. “Hello,” Zuko manages. 

“Uh,” Sokka replies. “Hi.”

“Oooh.” Zuko hears Iroh say, clearly talking to Azula. “Are all soldiers so handsome? Maybe I should sign up for the next war.”

“Uncle!” Azula’s attempt to chastise Iroh is half-hearted. She mostly sounds amused.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Zuko ventures, trying to decipher Sokka’s expression. _Why is he here?_

“Would you like to stay forever?” His uncle inquires helpfully. 

“Yes,” Sokka breathes. “Yeah, I’d like that.” And then his lips are on Zuko’s, soft and earnest. It’s chaste, less fiery than it was in the training camp, but it means just as much, if not more. 

The spirits have never liked Zuko, he's well aware of this. But right now, it feels like they're smiling. He delights in the feeling. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading!!!!! pls give me comments and kudos, they literally make my year


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